


Culmination, Prelude

by Shamelessly_Radiant



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Episode: s01e13 Le Morte D'Arthur, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:35:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21836836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shamelessly_Radiant/pseuds/Shamelessly_Radiant
Summary: It all comes to head when Arthur finds the letter Gaius left Merlin. But it is possible that this ending is the one that will lead to a new beginning, the spark needed for the dawning of a new era.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 240





	Culmination, Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> I am so emotional over this fic that I don't even know how to give it a title or a summary. Unbetaed and written in one go, just now, mistakes are all mine.

Merlin struggled to keep up with Arthur as he was dragged through the castle halls, Arthur’s grip unyielding and hard on his upper arm. Various times, he had tried to ask what the matter was, but no response was forthcoming, Arthur’s jaw set and his face angry, walking in a brutal pace towards his chambers. He had intercepted Merlin as soon as Gaius and he reached their chambers, and had grabbed him without a word of explanation.

Arthur all but threw Merlin inside once they reached his chambers, and Merlin scrambled but ultimately was unable to avoid falling as he lost momentum. Before he could get up, Arthur dragged him up, manoeuvring his body so that his back was up against the chest of drawers, the wood digging in hard and painfully into his skin.

“Arthur, what—” He tried again, and Arthur’s face was in his, tendons standing out and angry red, fury and betrayal written along every line of his trembling form and a sinking, ice cold feeling manifested in Merlin’s gut.

“You have been _lying_ to me for over a year!”

“Lying? I—” but Merlin’s hesitance was half-hearted at best, the ice in his gut was getting colder in the face of Arthur’s terrible anger, and he was so, so drained from the day’s occurrences he just couldn’t summon up any more energy to deal with this. Better to get it over quickly, then, and just accept his fate. “How did you find out?” He asked instead, softly, and not meeting Arthur’s gaze.

“So you don’t deny it?” Arthur asked. “You should tell Gaius to be more careful with what he writes in his letters, especially if they contain secrets and are addressed to _idiots_ that will just leave them lying around in the open for _anyone to find._ ”

Merlin could almost hear Arthur’s teeth gnashing together from the furious way he was speaking, could see it all clearly in his mind, Arthur entering their chambers, looking for his manservant, spotting the letter lying on the ground, the letter Merlin had flung beside in his haste to get to Gaius and had not spared even a second thought, the letter which openly stated Merlin was a sorcerer.

He could imagine Arthur reading it, growing incredulous, pacing, cataloguing all perceived betrayals in his head. What he could not fathom was _this_ , this private confrontation, the ire about his carelessness in leaving the letter laying around. If anything, Arthur should be triumphant in the face of Merlin’s mistake, in the ability to be able to rid Camelot of another evil sorcerer. If anything, the guards should’ve intercepted Merlin and Gaius as soon as they returned, the pyre burning readily.

“Arthur, I’m sorry.” Merlin’s voice nearly breaks, the emotions of the day, of the last week really, finally becoming too much. In quick succession, he has almost lost Arthur, his mother, Gaius, and has believed he would lose his own life. This confrontation, now, is what breaks him. To see the ire in Arthur’s eyes, the hatred, the revulsion, after he has gone to such lengths to save him and knows he’d to so again in a heartbeat, has forfeited his life for Arthur’s already and will now burn for it, this is what breaks the dam.

With a last shove Arthur lets go of him, turning away and pacing, running agitated fingers through his blond hair, and Merlin, boneless and crying openly now, slumps to the ground.

“How long has this been going on?” Arthur demands.

“All my life,” Merlin answers in a thick voice, his face buried in his hands.

“Would you— Merlin, would you—” Arthur’s hands are there then, pulling his arms away from his face, his voice exasperated and almost as it has always been, “would you _stop crying._ ”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Merlin snaps, “I’m sorry my sensibilities offend you, _sire._ I’m sorry that I am exhausted from running all around the place trying to save _everyone I care about_ and trading my life for yours and almost losing the two people that love me best in this world. I apologise!” His voice has gone shrill, and Arthur’s face has closed off, gone that way it goes when he is planning his next move to utterly obliterate his enemies without them even knowing it is coming.

His voice, when he speaks, is at its softest and most dangerous, and still, still Merlin is aware he hasn’t let go of Merlin’s wrists, holding them in a loose hold as he crouches before him. “What is this of you trading your life for mine? Why was Gaius talking about sacrificing himself in your stead? You will tell me everything, Merlin, right now.” His hands tighten on Merlin’s wrists, the squeezing a clear warning, and really, what is the point of hiding anything, anymore? Arthur knows enough to incriminate him and Gaius and even his mother by now, this way, he figures that the longer he speaks, the longer he can delay the inevitable.

So Merlin starts talking.

**_._ **

Arthur’s face had grown steadily stonier while Merlin talked, retelling the whole mess of the Questing beast and Nimueh and the Isle of the Blessed in a dull, monotone voice. Had started leaning away, shifting his piercing gaze from Merlin’s face to a more troubled one aimed at the ground, to eventually start pacing again, not even pausing as he waved Merlin on when his speech momentarily faltered.

Merlin has been silent for a while now, but Arthur has not stopped pacing.

“Sire?”

“So you sacrificed your life for me.”

“Well. Tried to, really,” Merlin quips, though it falls flat in the space between them.

Arthur doesn’t even acknowledge Merlin spoke. "And that whole little speech you gave me, about how you would be happy to be my servant till the day you died, about how I would become a great king one day, that was you saying goodbye to me?”

“Well, yes,” Merlin shrugs.

Arthur stops pacing, turning to glare at Merlin. “And it never occurred to you,” he starts, biting each word out, his speech clipped and halted, “that I might have liked to do the same? That I might have liked to know the truth? That I might have liked to know you were not planning to come back and I would never know what had happened?”

“Oh and what was I supposed to say?” Merlin is growing angry now too, and he scrambles back onto his feet to glare right back at the prat. “Hi Arthur, I’m off to sacrifice myself and save your life again, because as much as I want to stay at your side I can’t let my mother die for my mistakes, and, oh, by the way, I have magic, but don’t worry, you won’t need to execute me, this will take care of that little pesky problem for you.”

“… Again?” Arthur asks in a flat tone. His eyes narrow, and then he inhales harshly through his nose. “The snakes, that was _you!_ The witch, when my father appointed you as my servant. The light in the caves?”

“Apparently.” Merlin says. “I was incanting in my sleep.”

“But _why?”_

“ _Why?”_ Merlin asks incredulously. “Why? Because I love you, you idiot.”

Arthur stares, astonished, speechless, and Merlin closes his eyes, resigned. That was the only thing he didn’t mean to say. The only secret he meant to keep.

“Well,” Arthur says, coldly. “It seems you’ve been going far above and beyond your duty as my manservant, Merlin. That only begs the question, _why didn’t you tell me?_ ”

Merlin snorts. “Why?” He asks again. “Has it escaped your notice that almost everyday people are burning there?” he jerks his head in the direction of the courtyard. Arthur waves his words away as if they are a pesky bug. “No one is going to execute you,” he says, almost carelessly, and something in Merlin’s stomach seizes up. All the anguish, the fear, waved away in a few careless words. As if Merlin hasn’t had nightmares of burning almost every night, as if he hasn’t imagined himself in the place of the many sorcerers that have been executed, hasn’t imagined his name on the list of people to be hunted down and slaughtered.

He staggers, letting out a single dry sob. Easy for Arthur to say. Easy to throw away his concerns, to treat him differently— no.

There are a million things he could say to Arthur, to erase the hurt and betrayed look of his face. _I did trust you, I just didn’t want to endanger you._ or, _I didn’t want you to have to choose between me and the law, between me and your father._ And they would all be true. But what he says, is this.

“And what,” Merlin starts and is almost detached as he notices he is the one shaking with fury now. “Makes me different than all the others you would tie to the stake without a second thought?”

And in answer, Arthur kisses him. Walks towards Merlin and doesn’t slow down as he reaches him, hand coming up to the back of his head as he walks into him and all but _smashes_ his hot mouth over Merlin’s and their kiss is a mess of lips and tongues and _teeth_ and the press of Arthur’s mouth is hard and punishing, and Merlin gives right back even as heat coils low in his belly, punishes right back, because none of this is easy, none of this is fair and when Arthur’s hands start to roam and squeeze and tug, Merlin uses his strength and his magic to strip and move and make him _yield_ and as they become too breathless to kiss their mouths and hands map new territory, leaving marks of conquest in their wake, and the snap of their hips is brutal and punishing, and the yank of heads and hair is _hard_ and they don’t come up for a long time.

Afterwards, Merlin whispers into Arthur’s skin. About all he has done, all he will do. About how magic is neither good nor bad but can be equally lovely as it can be dark. He conjures the same ball of light that guided Arthur in the dark caves, again and again, and lets them illuminate the room. He conjures an image of the whole of Albion and lays it at Arthur’s feet, conjures a crown more golden than the sun for his head, Excalibur strapped to his naked hip, and he confesses his fears about what he is capable off, the ugliness inside, confesses his loneliness as Arthur cards careful fingers through his hair.

And in turn, Arthur does the same. Confesses his hesitations in the face of Uther’s hatred and cruelty, his fear that he will become the same with the weight of the crown on his head and Uther’s blood in his veins, confesses his conflict between wanting to be his own man, a good man and wanting to please his father, talks about all his perceived shortcomings and failings, confesses half of the time he doesn’t know what he is doing or what he will do, how easy it is to feel lacking, undeserving, as if he isn’t good enough, not unless he trains more, fights harder, takes on more burdens, that only then he could perhaps become deserving, in the face of those unattainable standards—

And they make promises too. Of love, of companionship, of justice in the face of Uther’s senseless prejudice and hatred, of fairness in the face of greed. Of a better Camelot. Of a better world.

**_._ **

(And perhaps this time, they’ll get it right.)


End file.
